


Turning Tides (One Piece Various x Fem!Reader)

by zadra_sunstreaker



Series: Turning Tides [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Assassin - Freeform, Comedy, F/F, F/M, Female Anti-Hero, Female Reader, Friendship, M/M, Multi, OOC?, Redemption, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-12-20 12:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zadra_sunstreaker/pseuds/zadra_sunstreaker
Summary: For most, death is the closing act of the tragedy, drama and comedy that is life. For you, it is just a prelude to another chapter of a never-ending existence of responsibility and sorrow. They call you the Red Hand, for the blood that seems to coat your skin more often than not. You play the part of the judge, jury and executioner to those who would take away the lives of the weak and innocent. Cursed by your own father, you go through life alone, burning bridges before they have a chance to form. Until you meet a pirate crew hell-bent on making you one of their own.





	1. Author's Note

You can find me on Quotev - hellraiser-m.  

 

  1. Later on, the story will be rated mature.
  2. „UPDATE”, “PLEASE UPDATE” – if you’re going to leave comments like that, please don’t comment at all. It’s rude and I will call you out on it. I’ve abandoned stories and accounts for comments like this making me feel pressured and unappreciated. Please don’t make me sad and angry :(
  3. Updates – Not gonna lie. I have a short attention span. Even though I have a lot written for this, there’s a big chance I’ll lose interest or inspiration. Constructive comments usually help ;) Updates won’t be consistent and might take from a week to a few months.
  4. English isn’t my first language and I’m still learning. If you see any glaring mistakes or have advice on how I could improve my writing, please tell me! I don’t bite as long as you’re not rude :)
  5. Consider this an AU. As the title might imply, I believe that the tides of destiny and history can be turned, even by one person. In this story, you’re that person. Because of you being a part of the One Piece storyline, certain events will change. Some deaths might be avoided, others caused. The story follows canon to a certain point and then it makes major changes. I will write about events that don’t happen in manga/anime.
  6. There are no main pairings. As of now it’s written with male characters in mind, but if any of you would like a female character included, let me know!
  7. Your relationships with certain characters will develop slowly, because of reasons. For others, it’s already in progress :D
  8. IF I make it till the end, there will be multiple endings, don’t worry. The one you pick will be canon for you.
  9. Pictures are not mine, unless stated otherwise.
  10. You looks are somewhat decided – you’re tall, muscular and move in a neutral/slightly masculine way. No swaying hips, sorry! They’ll still turn heads as you walk by, though, don’t worry ;) Other than that, your skin, hair, eyes, etc. are whatever you want them to be. violence
  11. If you read all that, I love you!




	2. The Red Hand

        The marine lays dead, empty gaze staring at the ceiling, neck opened wide with a deep slash. His pants are still around his ankles – he was too slow to pull them up before your blade cut him.

        A quiet sob sounds from the corner, muffled by shaking hands. You turn your head.

        Her hair is messy, one strap of her pastel blue dress torn and reveling the red imprint of a calloused hand.

 _'It will bruise_ ', you note dully, cold eyes hidden in the shadows of the black hood drawn over your head. So will the marks on her slender neck, vivid as if someone had painted them there.

        Her eyes are full of contradicting emotions – fear, pain, uncertainty, shock, relief, reluctant happiness. The man who’s tried to hurt her – maybe even _kill_ – lays dead at your feet, no longer capable of putting his hands on her.

_Or on anyone else, for that matter._

        “You s-saved me,” she manages to croak out, her throat already swelling.

        You give a slow nod, not daring to take any steps towards her. She might see you as her savior now, but you know from experience that those who see you kill, fear you no less than those you hunt. Though you’re famous for never laying hands on the innocent, knowing what you’re capable of doesn’t exactly fill people with trust and understanding. For all they know, a cold assassin like you might snap any minute and end their lives as well.

        “You’re safe now,” your voice is calm, low, soothing. Your gaze might be cold and emotionless, but that doesn’t mean you feel nothing. You’re glad you came when you did. A minute later and the girl would have been hurt in ways you never wished on anyone, not even the people you kill.

        She’s still shaking, but some of her fear leaves.

        Your hidden blade slides back into the gauntlet at your wrist without a sound, the motion hidden by the black cape thrown over your left shoulder.

        The girl stares at the unmoving man.

        “He’s d-dead,” she says, drawing her knees up to her chest.

        Another nod from you, “He won’t hurt you anymore.”

        “You **_killed_** him,” the fact starts to sink in. You turn your head away from her, gazing at the motionless body on the floor.

        You don’t want to see it – the fear that might be returning to her face.

        “Yes.”

        You’ll have to dispose of the corpse, so that the rest of his lot don’t accuse the girl of killing him. The last thing you want is for her to suffer any more. The marine captain in this port is a shit-stain who doesn’t hesitate to hurt the citizens he’s supposed to protect.

        You’ll take care of him, as well. The headquarters will have to send a new one in, hopefully someone less cruel and far more competent.

        You walk up to the bed and grab a corner of the sheet covering it. With one strong tug, it flies into your hands, pillows and blankets tumbling to the floor.

        “W-What… are you doing?” her voice is calmer now. Might be dissociating.

        “I need to take care of his body, so you’re not linked to his death.”

        She’s quiet as you wrap the dead man with the white material, his blood tainting some of its color with red. She doesn’t say anything as you hoist the lump on your shoulder easily and stare down at the puddle of crimson on the wooden floor.

        “Can you clean it up on your own?”

        She gives a jerky nod. Your lips twist into a small, sad smile.

        “I’m sorry you had to go through this, love,” you turn towards the window, reading the crossbow attached to your right wrist. The loaded bolt has a thick metal wire linked to it, its length coiled in the gauntlet the weapon’s molded into.

        As you step onto the windowsill, you hear her stand up. Her knees shake, bones rattling against each other.

        “ _Thank you_ …” her voice is small.

        You don’t turn back as you nod yet again. With a touch of two fingers to the button on your palm, the bolt’s released. It hits the building across the darkened street. The line tugs at your body and you fly through the air with the grace of a raven.

        Even from the roof across, you hear her sobs start back up again.

 

* * *

       

        They find the dirt-bag’s corpse the next day, right beside the base’s captain’s dead body. A morbid red hand is painted on the wall above their heads with a hue that can only be their blood. In bold, crooked letters, a short sentence glares at the world.

**_Bite the hand that feeds and it will cut you down._ **

        The rate of crimes committed by their comrades drops down significantly. The new commander is strict but unlike his predecessor, a man of honor and respect for the people of the town.

_It’s hard to wash their blood from underneath your fingernails._

 

* * *

 

        “ _Oi_ , gramps, what’s with that?” a boy in a straw hat points at the wanted poster behind the bar. The rest of his crew glances up from their beer mugs, bickering and joking coming to a stop. They’ve all been wondering why there was a blank poster with an imprint of a red hand on it, 25.000.000. bellycrossed out into 32.000.000.

        The old bartender looks up from the glasses he’s been polishing. “Oh? That? The government’s upped the bounty last week. Now it’s the highest one in East Blue.”

        “Woaaah... They beat me!” the brunette captain grins, shifting in his chair excitedly. There were some powerful people even here!

        “But there’s no picture! How do they know who to look for?!” the long-nosed man’s eyebrows shoot up in confusion.

        “If you see them in action, you’ll know. Lots of blood on that one’s hands.” He places a clean glass underneath the counter, face calm and unbothered. “Though if you’re doing something **_bad_** , you probably won’t live long enough to speak of it.”

        The pirate crew’s eyes widen.

        “So he’s a murderer?!”

        The old man bristles, “What?! **No**! A _hero_!”

        They stare at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head.

        “But you just said they’ve killed lots of people!”

        “Only those who deserve it,” he snaps, eyes narrowing.

        “Woah, easy there,” the green haired swordsman lifts his hands up. No need to piss off the man pouring his drinks. “Didn’t mean anything bad by it.”

        The man’s glare lessens a little.

        “Sorry,” he grunts out. “That person saved my and my wife’s lives.”

        “ _ **EH**_ **?!** ” the straw-hat leans closer, shocked and curious.

        The owner nods, his eyes clouding over with recent memories.

        “Just a month ago a group of pirates came here and trashed the place when we run out of rum. Said that if we didn’t have what they wanted, they’d just take what we had.” The glass cracks in his clenched fist.

        The rookie crew falls silent, just imagining what that might have meant.

        “If it wasn’t for the Red Hand…” he falls silent but then shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the dreadful thoughts. “I keep the poster up, to remind the filth there’s someone out there taking their lot out. Like the trash they are.” He gazes at the coarse paper almost fondly.

        “So you saw him?” the red-headed girl asks, eyes calculating as she considers the amount of money for the criminal’s head.

        “Not really. Don’t even know if it was a man or a woman. They had a black hood over their head. Though…” he stops, memories of a sad smile surfacing. “Their voice was soft. Comforting. We should have been scared after watching that person cut down almost twenty pirates in less than a minute, but there was this sense of… warmth, when they spoke. Like being covered by a warm blanket after a night out in rainy weather.”

        The rest of the pirates feel themselves grow wary as they see a certain glint in their captain’s eyes.

        “How do we find them?”

        The bartender’s gaze snaps to him warily. “Why? You're not thinking of trying to collect the bounty, are you?”

        The young man’s lips stretch into an excited grin. “I want them to join my crew!”

        The others sitting at the table groan.

**Some things never change.**

* * *

 

        Sitting behind his desk in Loguetown, Smoker chews on the ends of his cigars in agitation. His eyebrows are scrunched up in thought, eyes narrowed, fingers of one big hand clutching the paper of a wanted poster.

        A picture of a red hand glares back at him almost mockingly.

_The bounty’s gone up again._

        When he looks at the red hand, memories of a figure clad in black flood him.

_A hand clutching his own as he dangles over the cliff’s edge, so exhausted from his fight that he can’t use his powers anymore._

_Being pulled back and falling onto the person, feeling the definitely feminine parts of their body push against his broad chest._

_(E/c) eyes staring back at him as their hood flies back, revealing a pretty face he has a hard time looking away from._

_A face that feels oddly familiar,_ **important** _, yet one he can’t remember seeing before._

_A sad, broken smile on the woman’s face, one that makes his heart clench with sorrow and longing he should not be feeling while looming over someone he’s never met._

_Her mouth opening but then snapping shut again, the movement drawing his attention to lips that he could swear he’s kissed before._

_Looking into those eyes again, seeing the tears gathering in their corners._

_Being pushed back roughly and watching her run away with a flutter of a black cape, the hood back over her head._

_Laying on the ground, wanting to run after her for some reason, but no longer having the strength._

_Feeling the tears fall down his own face, as a sudden feeling of devastating loss clutches at his heart._

        He balls the poster up with one clench of his fist and throws it across the room furiously.

        He knows that the Red Hand is a woman.

        He knows how she looks like.

        He knows he should waltz straight into the sketch artist’s office and have her draw a new picture for the poster, one that might actually help catch the criminal instead of building even a bigger legend around her.

        But somehow, he just **_can’t_**.

        Every time he makes up his mind to go and do it, the feeling of loss and glimpses of memories _he shouldn’t have_ , freeze him in his steps.

        He runs his now free hand through his hair and lets out a growl when an image of the girl leaning over him and doing the same invades his brain.

_His head rests on her thighs as she brushes the bangs out of his eyes._

_“You’ll make a fine marine, Smoker,” her voice is soft, proud, smile warm as she-_

        He bangs his fist into the wall.

**The memory evaporates as pain surfaces.**

 

* * *

 

        In a castle on Kuraigana Island, the world’s greatest swordsman riffles through the newspaper while sipping on a glass of wine. One leg crossed over the other, he looks dignified even when utterly bored.

        It’s been a while since he’s seen anything interesting. If it weren’t for his meeting with Roronoa Zoro, he might have died of boredom. All the other pirates he came across since then have been an utter disappointment.

        As he turns another page, his sharp gaze is drawn to big, bold letters shining above the picture of a wanted poster.

**THE RED HAND STRIKES AGAIN**

        He rises one brow curiously.

 

_The mysterious assassin has reminded the world of their power yet again. A marine captain has been found dead, cut down by a sword, one of his men besides him._

_They died quickly, the coroner has said. The bounty has been raised yet again, even without a face to associate with the name._

 

        Mihawk lets out a low hum of interest. That was near Loguetown. It appears that the Red Hand is headed for the Grand Line.

        He places the wine glass on the table, its contents now gone. He rises from his armchair, grabbing the hilt of his sword and slinging it across his back.

        Another trip to East Blue suddenly sounded interesting.


	3. The Hand That Feeds

 

        The next town you stop at is small, peaceful and without any Marines.

        You walk through the port’s marketplace, hood casting shadows across your face. You’ve left most of your weapons on the ship, hidden in a small cove between two steep cliffs. Even _if_ someone finds it, there is no way they could drop down on board without turning into a human pancake.

        You carry full gear around only when expecting a fight. The chances of meeting a challenge you can’t handle with just a hidden blade are now slim to none. A certain rookie pirate crew took care of all the major bad guys in East Blue– Buggy, Don Krieg and even Arlong.

        All of the big names you had on your **to-kill-list** have been taken care of - one way or another. There is no reason for you to stick around on this side of the Grand Line anymore.

        Your gaze is drawn to the ship docked boldly among the little fishing boats of the village folks. The Jolly Roger flapping around in the wind has a straw hat on its bony head and its teeth are stretched into a wide grin.

        You can’t help the slight lift of the corner of your lips.

_Speak of the devil…_

        It isn’t often you find yourself actually _admiring_ pirates, but here they are – the ones who cleaned out the East Blue even though none of them are past 20 years old yet.

        „GAAAH! How are we going to buy provisions now?!” one of your eyebrows rises at the shout that shatters the port’s tranquility.

        You turn your head towards the sound. Right next to the apple vendor, a pretty red-headed girl stands with her hands tearing at strands of her hair.

        “How could a **thief** get **_robbed_**?!” her long-nosed companion asks, his mouth wide open, right eye twitching in annoyance.

        “SHUT UP!” the girl whacks the back of his head with an open palm, face flushing.

        “Ouch! I’m sorry! D-Don’t hit me!”

        You recognize the two right away – you’ve seen their new wanted posters when you dropped by the local bar for a pint of beer.

        The corner of your lips lifts higher.

        “How will we reach the next island now?! We’ll starve to death at the sea!”

        “ _Ouch_! Seriously, Nami! Stop hitting me, it’s not my fault!” the boy covers his head with his hands.

        That earns him another hit.

        “You didn’t notice it, so yeah it is!”

        “B-but you were the one carrying the – OUCH! SORRY MA’AM! It was my fault if you say so!”

        A feeling of longing sends painful pinpricks into your heart.  Even though you deny yourself any lasting attachments to the people you meet, a part of you misses having someone fighting alongside you.

        The image of an old friend pops into your head – his brown eyes warm, grey hair tousled. The one person you’ve truly let into your heart is no longer a part of it. He doesn’t remember you and never will, unless you find a way to get rid of the curse you’re under.

        You turn to the mixed goods stall behind you, reaching for one of the pouches at your waist. They’re all still there – heavy and hidden by the cape hanging from your left shoulder.

        “I want enough food and water to last a crew of five two weeks,” you say, loosening the drawstrings to show the coins in it. They glitter in the sun seductively, making the shop owner’s eyes open wide.

        “O-Of c-course,” he stammers out, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. “…sir?” he guesses wrong, but you don’t care to correct him. The more confusion there is about you, the better for your anonymity.

        “Deliver it to my friends over there,” you point a finger to the pirate ship, “and give them this, as well,” you throw a smaller pouch at him and his grin turns sly.

        “Don’t even think about stealing it. I’ll know,” your voice doesn’t change but the air around you seems to chill. “And I won’t appreciate it.”

        The man gulps nervously and starts nodding his head jerkily. “W-Wouldn’t dream of it!” The greedy flicker that’s still in his eyes tells you otherwise, but you just turn to face the pirates again.

        They are all there now. The green-haired swordsman scowls at the only female crew member, his muscled arms crossed over a well-built chest. The tall, handsome blond wearing a suit holds the red-head’s hand, hearts in his eyes as he tries to console her.

        “ **NO MEAT?!** ” the boy with the straw-hat shouts, tears streaming down his face dramatically.

        You chuckle – a sound you haven’t let out for so long, that you startle yourself right out of it.

        Your smile is replaced by a frown in a flash. You try to squash the budding fondness for the young crew. Admiration for their courage and strength is alright, but you can’t let yourself become attached to them. They are good people now, but are still young as well. There is no telling if in a few years’ time their morals won’t change. You’ve seen men corrupted by fame and gold more times than you’ve cared to count and striking down someone you like is not something you want to do ever again.

        You glance away, confident that the stall owner has enough sense to follow your instructions. Muscles tense, you walk away.

        You don’t see the red-haired woman glance your way with clever eyes but you do hear the happy shout as you turn the corner.

        “ **YAY! MEAT!** ”

 

* * *

 

        Sometimes you don’t choose your marks – they choose you.

        They’re tailing you – three men dressed in dirty clothing. You’d think they were simple pickpockets if it weren’t for the ornamental gun you’ve glimpsed under the vest one of them wears and the knife in the other one’s boot.

        Lips pressed into a tight line, you duck into the alleyway on your left, black cape fluttering in the breeze coming in from the sea.

       They follow, thinking you’re an easy mark, their boots thundering against the cobblestone streets. The grins they have on their faces vanish when they don’t see you backed into the dead-end before them.

        “Eh? Where did he go?” the gunman asks, as he peers around a dumpster.

        You’re not there, either.

        “What the hell, man?” the weaponless one mutters as they all walk deeper into the shadows between the two buildings, golden teeth flashing as he tells the other two to check again.

_That’s the leader, then._

        They don’t hear you drop down to the ground behind them, blocking their way out.

        You could just kill them now and be done with it, but a part of you wants to give them a chance and see what they intend to do.

        _Rob you?_

_Kill you?_

_Both?_

        For the first, you’d forgive them. For the second, they’d be dead.

        “Are you lost?”

        They jump at the low sound of your cold voice and whirl around. The one with the knife wields it already; the one with the gun reaches under his vest slowly. Their shoulders relax when they see it’s just you – the person they were hunting.

        They burst out laughing, too stupid to wonder how you’ve suddenly appeared behind them.

        “Ya hear him, boys?” gold-teeth clutches at his stomach, letting out a bark of a laugh.

        “Yeah, we sure are lost,” the one with the knife twirls it in his hand in a way he no doubt thinks is threatening. “We’re trying to find our way to your purse.”

        They all laugh again, not aware of the danger they’re in.

        “Can’t help you with that one,” you reply calmly. “You seem to have _found your way_ to quite a few people’s fortunes already, though.” You eye the pouches hanging from their belts. One with a pirate skull in a straw hat stitched onto it catches your eye.

        So they’re the ones who robbed the rookies.

        “Well, we never get tired of sightseeing,” the gunman smirks, weapon now in hand and aimed at your head. “So how about you show us what you’ve got?”

        You stand still, unimpressed.

        “And if I don’t?” the lack of fear in your voice makes them frown.

        “We’ll have to take it by force, eh?” golden teeth flash as the leader leans his back against the wall behind him, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t care less. They don’t think this will be hard. How stupidly overconfident.

        “Will you kill me?” your question catches the knife wielder off guard. He looks at his comrades, a flicker of uncertainty in his beady eyes.

        “If you make us, yeah,” the gun aimed at you trembles slightly.

        “Go ahead,” it’s your turn to shrug your shoulders.

        They gape at you, mouths wide open.

        “Ya _**stupid**_?!” the one leaning against the wall stumbles forward in shock, losing his composure.

        “If you aim a gun at someone’s head, you should be prepared to pull the trigger,” you don’t even shift, your back is straight, “And to face the consequences.”

        “Cut the crap and hand over the gold, mate,” the gunman growls out, taking a step forward. The weapon shakes harder.

_Not murderers, then. Just a couple of violent fools, biting off more than they can chew._

        “No,” the hood hides your face, but they could swear they catch a glimpse of cold, narrowed, calculating eyes.

        “Alright friend, you asked for this!” The thug shoves the gun back into the hidden holster under his vest, rushing at you with just his fists - a decision that saves his and the rest of his gang’s lives.

        You grab his hand and twist his arm back, shoving him to the ground. One foot against his shoulder blade, you give a strong tug. He lets out a pained shout when his arm pops out of its place - dislocated.

        “Bastard!” knife-man runs forward, clutching the hilt of his weapon in a white-knuckled grip. This one won’t get out of this fight without scars.

        You duck as he slashes; his moves are wild and untrained. Your fingers close around his ankles and you yank them forward and then, when he loses balance, up.

        His back hits the floor, knife now in your grasp. You swing it down mercilessly. His scream is louder than his comrade’s as the blade slides through the skin, flash and bone of his hand.

        The leader hesitates before he lunges – you lift your knee and slam it into his gut. He coughs up blood and crumbles besides his friends, holding onto his no doubt broken ribs.

        You stand over them, not even a little out of breath.

        “I should kill you,” your calm words no longer send them into laughter. Now, they make them shake in fear.

        “P-Please, n-no…” the one with his shoulder dislocated says, clutching at his limp arm.

        “Did you ever **kill** anyone?” you ask.

        They all shake their heads no. You observe all the little details of their expressions, judging. You were observant long before you became what you are today. Now it’s a trait that makes you all the more deadly.

_They’re not lying._

        “Did you ever assault a woman?”

        Now their shaking is even fiercer.

        “N-No! If it’s a woman, we just cut the purse quietly! We never do… t-this…” beady eyes gaze around the alleyway’s dirty walls.

_No lie there, either._

        “I will let you live, then.”

        “T-Thank you!” they sob in pain and relief, foreheads pressed against the ground.

        “ **But** ,” you start, making their hearts jump into their throats. “If you ever hurt another person or rob them, I _**will**_ know and I _**will**_ come back and **finish** you.”

        They have no doubt you will. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re not a person who makes empty threats.

       “It’s probably too late to return the money,” you nod towards the pouch attached to the leader’s belt. You saw the Straw Hat pirates sail away an hour ago. “Is there an orphanage on the island?”

        There probably is. The world is full of children whose parents either left them to travel the sea or died by cruel hands.

        They nod, confirming one of the life’s saddest facts.

        “ _Donate_ ,” with that final word, you leave them there, trembling in the darkness they wanted to use against you.

 

* * *

 

        Nami watches in disgust as Luffy shoves more meat into his mouth.

        “Man, I wonder who bought all of this for us,” the boy says, voice muffled from all the food.

        “Ugh,” the navigator pushes her own plate away, appetite lost.

        “Look what you’ve done, you savage!” Sanji shouts at the captain, eyebrow twitching as he grabs him by the collar of his shirt. “You’ve ruined the meal for Nami-san!”

        “Eh?” the boy glances at the almost full course and grins. “Great! More for me!”

        That earns him a kick to the head. His eyes bulge out as he starts to choke on the chicken bone he was gnawing on just a second ago.

        “Ah, he’s choking,” Zoro drawls out from where he leans against the fridge, one eye open lazily.

        “ **AH! HE’S _CHOKING_!** ” Usopp repeats, being the only one to rush to the captain’s help.

        The others watch calmly as he wraps his arms around Luffy’s torso and starts squeezing him.

        “He’s probably gonna die,” Zoro shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position to laze about in.

        “What a shame,” Sanji’s voice couldn’t get any more sarcastic even if he tried.

        One more push from Usopp and the bone flies through the air, right into the window.

        And there goes the glass. _Again._

        The wind blows in from outside as Luffy starts to laugh.

        “Man, that was scary!”

        “Stop laughing, you moron!” the sniper whacks him across the back of his head. “You almost died from _eating_!”

        The boy just laughs harder.

        Nami frowns as she stares at the surface of the table, deep in thought. The cook, being as enamored as he is with her, notices.

        “What is it, Nami-san?”

        “I think I saw them…” her voice is quiet, but it gets everyone’s attention.

        “Who?”

        “That person, the one who helped us… There was a man, he was staring at us…” she feels frustrated. Why did that person help them? What did he have to gain? A sudden though makes her eyes widen. Was he after their bounties? They hadn’t considered that the food might be poisoned. Was it?

        She glances up at Luffy’s healthy face.

        Nope, unfortunately.

        “What did he look like?” Usopp plops down onto an empty chair.

        “I couldn’t see his face, he was wearing a black hood.”

        A heavy silence falls in the kitchen; light bulbs go out in each of their heads.

        “ **IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE RED HAND!** ” Luffy jumps up excitedly, his near-death experience long forgotten. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?!” he shouts at the navigator.

        “We don’t know if it was that person!” an angry vein starts to pulse on the girl’s forhead. “Many people dress in black!”

        “Turn the ship back around!” the captain shouts, waving his hands around, no longer listening or caring. If there is even a shadow of a chance that it was the mysterious assassin, he’ll chase it!

        “What? No! We can’t afford a detour! You already ate half of our provisions!”

        “I wanna meet him!” He crosses his arms and pouts like a child being denied a toy.

        “Why would you want to meet a _murderer_ , you idiot?!” Usopp scoffs, mimicking his captain’s stance.

        “I want him in my crew! Turn back _arouuuuuund_!” the lanky brunette wails. It takes all four of his companions to hold him down until he tires himself out and falls asleep. Even then he keeps on muttering about black hoods and meat, stretching his hands as if he was grabbing at both.

        “Like we need a person like that on our ship,” Sanji mutters under his breath.

        Still, none of them can deny that if it weren’t for the unexpected help, they would have been stuck on that island for who knows how long.


	4. The Hand You Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter note: SHORT, but I needed it to end at this point. Expect the next one to be the longest so far, though. Lots of bonding with the Straw Hats in the next one, too.

 

        You hate sea monsters with a passion.

        Your clothes are a complete mess. The front of your black shirt is shredded, showing the white bandages wrapped around your chest; the right sleeve hangs on by just a few loose threads.

        You glance at the equally torn sail with an angry grimace. Your ship’s moving at a snail’s pace, thanks to the wind having little to work with. The blasted thing took a bite out of one of the sides, too. A few centimeters more and you’d be swimming your way to the shore.

_And drowning on your way there, most probably._

        You slide the ruined piece of clothing off, frowning at the gashes covering your body. The healing salve helped to mend the wounds faster but you’ll still have more scars to add to the already numerous collection.

        You tear your gaze away from your bare skin, not wanting to look at the myriad of white lines and circles left behind by blades, bullets, fangs, claws and fire. There are many of them, even underneath the material of the black pants you wear.

        You **despise** them, can hardly **_look_** at them. They remind you of old losses and the people who’ll never remember you again.

        Ugly, unsightly, disappointing – that’s what they are to you.

        You yank a simple white shirt out of the hidden compartment in the bottom of your boat and put it on hastily. You don’t have enough time to get out of your black pants, which stick to your skin with water and blood – both yours and the stupid beast’s that just had to go and ruin your day.

        The town is closer now and you don’t know whether to grimace or laugh when you see a familiar ship next to the only docking space left. The grin on the Jolly Roger’s face seems to mock you as you send a displeased glance to the flag it’s painted on. Your bad mood only worsens when you see all of the ship’s crew hanging around the deck.

       _Just your luck_ \- running into them even after staying on the last island longer to make sure you **wouldn’t.**

        After you helped them out with their little crisis, you’ve found yourself thinking about them often.

_Too often for your taste._

        You’ve been drawn in like this once before and it didn’t go well. The last thing you need in your life is more to regret.

        Having no sleeves to hide your weapons with, you’ve placed them with everything else you own – in that hidden little hole no one will look for on a ship as small as this. You feel naked without them and a hood over your head, miss the familiar weight of leather braces and tempered steel. All you can carry in this state is the old [falchion ](http://artofswordmaking.com/public/photos/original/falchion_paris_scabbard_02-1460127772.jpg)that once belonged to your mother.

        Your ship hits the shore, banging against the wooden deck. You don’t turn to look at the pirates, but your instincts tell you you’ve drawn their attention. They’re probably only curious about the state your ship is in. Hopefully, if you ignore them, they’ll pay you back in kind.

        “Woah! You look awful!”

_Or not._

        Resigned, you glance at Monkey D. Luffy. He leans against the railing of his ship, holding onto his signature straw hat.

        “Your ship looks like you’ve fought a Sea King!” Usopp choruses, eyes on the missing chunk of wood in the side of your boat.

        “ _Well_ ,” you shift awkwardly, not knowing how to handle this lot in a way that won’t raise their interest. You could just snap at them coldly, but it’s hard to be rude when someone looks at you with such bright eyes. “I’ve run into one, yes,” you conveniently leave out the part where its corpse is either floating along with the waves or laying on the ocean’s floor – depending on the stage of decomposition it’s in.

        “How are you still **_alive_**?!” the sniper’s eyes almost bulge out in shock. Meeting one of those beasts meant death for most.

        You open your mouth to lie, but someone with a lazy drawl is faster than you.

        “She killed it,” your gaze snaps to Roronoa Zoro and you catch him giving you an once-over. His eyes stop at the material of your pants. To an untrained eye, the red color of blood is invisible against the black material.

        Unfortunately for you, the pirate hunter turned pirate is _very much_ trained.

        “AWESOME!” the young captain shouts and hops onto your deck. “You must be strong!”

        You shift uncomfortably, muscles tense – with so little space, he stands at an arm’s length from you. It’s a distance you save for those you’re about to kill.

        “I just got lucky,” you try to play your skills down.

        The green-haired man snorts. Frustrated, you send him a mild glare. The yawn he lets out tells you just how threatening he finds it.

        “It’s _me_ who got lucky~<3!” a charming voice all but sings, as Sanji jumps onto your ship as well, hearts in his eyes. The boat rocks under the added weight and you shift your stance to keep balance. You can feel the observant eyes of the swordsman watch your movements in curiosity. Even in the small shift of your body, he can notice the movements of someone who’s used to working with blades.

        “To think the world might have lost such beauty and I wouldn’t get to witness it!” he makes a move to grab your hand and you flinch back on instinct.

        The love-struck blonde doesn’t notice, but Zoro’s eyebrows rise. You grit your teeth and keep your body in place as Sanji grabs your hand with both of his – you’ve made enough slip-ups for the day.

        His fingers are long and slender you note, trying to distract yourself from your instincts screaming in protest. He holds your hand as if it were a piece of precious porcelain. His breath ghosts over your skin and just as his lips are about to press to it, he pauses. His eyes widen slightly as he notices the numerous scars – one from stopping a bullet from reaching your heart, another from having a sword shoved right through your palm, others from cuts and burns that are small but vivid.

        Feeling bitterness flood you at the look on his face, you tear your hand out of his grasp. The movement’s sharp, violent and makes him flinch.

        You hate when this happens – someone notices your scars and starts looking at you differently.

        “I-I’m sorry,” the flirty tone is no longer in his voice, replaced by regret. “I didn’t mean to-“

        “ **Don’t** worry about it,” you mutter, your gaze burning holes into the wooden bottom of your boat.

        Your hand drifts to the pommel of your sword, seeking its comforting coldness. Just a few seconds of holding onto it and you feel the anxiety and irritation fade into a cold kind of calmness.

        “I’m Luffy!” the young captain breaks the awkward air, his grin wide as if he didn’t notice it at all.

        “(Y/n),” you reply, not seeing the harm in them knowing your real name. You don’t use it often, anyway. The Red Hand is who you really are. (Y/N) is just someone you used to be.

        He opens his mouth to say something else, but you lift your free hand up to silence him. Surprisingly enough, the simple gesture works. A certain navigator, who’s been watching you carefully, raises a curious brow. You must be something else if you can shut the energetic boy up with just a simple gesture.

        “I’d love to stick around, but I need to find someone to fix my ship,” you say, getting out of the boat. It’s not a lie. You know only the bare-minimum needed to sail. Hopefully, you’ll be able to find someone more competent in this town.

        “Aww, but I want to talk!” the boy pouts, some of the brightness leaving his eyes.

        You feel your chest warm at the sight. It’s hard to imagine that someone as endearing as him has one of the highest bounties in East Blue.

        “Maybe later, captain,” you grab the rim of his hat and tug it down over his eyes. If he looks at you like that, your resolve to stay away from him and his crew might just crumble.

        His pout turns into a grin again – a wide and bright one.

        “Did you hear? She called me _captain_!” he turns to his crew, who only roll their eyes at how easy it is to make him happy. He watches you stride out of the docks, his eyes sparkling.

        He’s not the only one following your figure with his gaze.


	5. The Hands That Carry You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had too much fun with this. I ship you with everyone. I've edited this so many times, I no longer register the words in this chapter when I read them. Sorry for any remaining mistakes.

 

        You don’t find anyone who can fix your boat. They can patch it up, yes, but there is no way they can make it ready for the Grand Line. Your best bet is to wait for someone willing to sell their ship to you or to try and sail the current one to Loguetown somehow.

        “Ah, it’s _you_!” a loud, excited voice calls out as a familiar boy in a straw hat walks into the bar you’re sitting in.

        It takes all your willpower to stop yourself from sighing tiredly. You’ve purposely come here, _to the very edge of the town_ , to try and avoid the young captain and his crew.

        The world doesn’t seem to care much about your plans to stay away from them, though.

        Luffy plops onto a chair on the other side of the table you sit at, skinny legs kicking you under the table accidently. You flinch as his foot collides with the healing wound on your shin.

        Surprisingly enough, he notices. He ducks down, eyes wide in alarm.

        “Did I do this?!” he shouts, panicked. He crawls underneath the table entirely as he notices a red stain starting to spread against the grey material.

        There goes your new pair of pants.

        “No, don’t worry about it,” the tone of your voice is even and cool, even as apprehension floods you. Unpredictable should be this pirate’s middle name.

_Definitely not dignity and proper conduct._

        You try to scoot your chair back, but long fingers grab your boot and tug your foot forward. You feel heat spread against your cheeks as the boy unceremoniously lifts the material of your pants above your knee, taking you by surprise. “It’s n-nothing. R-Really,“ you start stuttering, feeling your pulse quicken as he leans closer, his breath brushing sensitive skin.

_Does he have no shame?!_

        You glance up to the bar, where the pretty, middle-aged owner sits on a barstool lazily. She grins at you slyly and wiggles her eyebrows before giving you the thumbs up.

        Your face feels like it’s on fire.

        “What? No, it’s **not**!” Luffy shouts, peering at your face from beneath the wooden surface with a frown, “You’re bleeding!”

        You’d probably find the situation amusing, if you weren’t a part of it. A blushing woman holding a beer mug, a plate of half-finished food before her and a younger man squatting under the table, all but caressing her leg? A setup like that belongs in the kind of stories that make young maidens and lads blush.

        Not that you read shameless romance novels in your spare time.

**_Nope._ **

        You’re thankful that the bar is relatively empty. If there were more people around, you might have really burst into flames.

         “So, was it the Sea King?” Luffy asks, as he ties a surprisingly clean handkerchief around your shin.

        You nod, face still red, trying to ground yourself with a sip of cold beer.

        He crawls out and sits back on the same chair as before. “Man, Zoro’s right - you must be strong to have fought it off on your own!” his eyes are shining as he leans forward, scanning your face as if he could see your skill that way.

        You don’t know whether to feel flattered that an admirable swordsman like Roronoa Zoro thinks so highly of you, or alarmed that he’s able to judge you so easily.

        You are strong – you know that and see no sense in denying your skills. If it came to a fight between you and the former pirate hunter, you’d be a hard opponent when in full gear. With just a sword? You’d put one hell of a fight, but lose in the end. You rely more on hand-to-hand combat and the hidden weapons in your arsenal.

        You don’t say anything, focusing on your mug instead. The ale’s strong in this inn – not diluted with water to keep the pirates buying more of it, like in the establishments closer to the shore.

        “How’d you kill it?”

_Looks like he won’t let the matter go._

        You pat the falchion lying on the table.

        You _could_ ignore Luffy, but his excitement and cheer make him too endearing. Bright eyes, innocent grins and pouts are your weakness, it would seem. He’ll break some hearts in the future, no doubt.

        ‘ _Especially if he’s as clueless about boundaries as he is now_ ,’ you think dryly, skin still tingling with the memory of his touch.

        “You should duel Zoro!” he all but bounces in his seat. You snap your gaze up to him, alarmed.

        “I only draw this sword when I intend to kill someone with it,” you say quickly, instantly regretting it.  What is wrong with you, letting your guard down around this crew, slipping up and letting them know more than they need to! You’re never this lax about keeping your act straight.

        His eyes sharpen and for a moment, you think he’ll push the subject. He nods understandingly instead.

        What a surprising little thing. Just when you think you have him figured out to a degree, he turns out to be more mature than he appears.

        His expression brightens again as he reaches under his shirt and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper.

        „By the way! Have you seen this person?!” you stare at the poster suddenly shoved in your face and feel your blood run cold.

        The wanted poster is familiar – the red hand instead of a person’s face a reminder of your anonymity. Your bounty seems to have gotten higher again. You shift to the left, peering at Luffy with slightly narrowed eyes.

        “Can’t say I have,” your voice is calm, even though you start feeling apprehensive.

        Why is this boy looking for you? For the bounty? He is a pirate, after all – one who’s taken down East Blue’s biggest names. You’re now the most wanted person in this part of the world, judging by the amount of Beri written on the paper. Catching or killing you would bring him even more notoriety.

        “Awww, _man_ ,” Luffy pouts unexpectedly, his shoulders slumping.

        You blink, relaxing a little bit at his reaction.

        “Why are you looking for him?” You know most people assume the Red Hand to be a man. It’s annoying, but convenient.

        He straightens his posture right away, eyes glinting excitedly.

        “I want him in my crew!”

        You can’t help it – your face flushes as warmth spreads through your chest. You put a hand over your face, pretending to rub your eyes tiredly and trying to hide your blush.

        It’s been ages since someone wanted you in a way that didn’t mean handing you or your head over to the marines.

        ‘ _Just tell him it’s you_ ’, a part of you screams – the one longing for friendship and acceptance.

        ‘ _No_ ,’ the part that doesn’t want to involve anyone into your dirty business and troubles seethes out.

        If his reputation’s right, he’s a good person full of dreams. Your presence on his ship would only put him into unnecessary danger.

        Could he take it? No doubt, but that doesn’t mean you want to make life harder for him.

        “Why do you want him?” you manage to ask eventually, butterflies still fluttering underneath your skin.

        “Why **_not_**?” Luffy retorts, with an expression that tells you there’s something wrong with your head. “He’s strong, he helps out folks in trouble and takes care of the bad people,” he starts listing off on the fingers of his free hand. “He could kinda hold back on killing them all, but what the heck,” he shrugs his shoulders and the urge to tell him you’re the one he seeks, grows.

        You pull your lips into a tight line at the feeling. You can’t let yourself feel happy just because someone finds you interesting. How low of a standard is that?

        “Might be hard finding them with no picture,” your voice is colder that you intend it to be, almost cruel.

        Luffy’s shoulders slump again and guilt grips your heart.

        “ _I knooow…_ ” he drawls out, letting his forehead hit the table’s surface.

        Now you just feel like dirt. Way to go and rain on the boy’s parade. You could have just let him dream.

        He turns his head to the side, cheek squishing against the table comically.

        “Think he’ll show up if he hears I’ve been asking about him?”

        Your tongue feels like a piece of deadwood in your mouth. What should you say to that?

        You don’t even know why he’s talking to you, anyways. The way you look is hardly approachable and as far as he knows, you’re just some woman who can use a sword and swam into the port on a crappy ship.

        “He probably already has,” you reply carefully. “Maybe he’s just not the type that works well with others.”

        “Ehh…” Luffy seems to think about it, as he crosses his arms over his lean chest. “I don’t really care,” he gives you a beaming smile.

         You almost fall off your chair at his response.

        “I want him to join my crew, so he will eventually,” he sticks a finger up his nose. “It’s what happened with everyone else on the ship.”

        You can’t blame his friends for changing their minds. There’s something oddly charming about how simple he makes the world seem.

        You open your mouth to say something to discourage him, but his gaze zeroes in on your unfinished plate.

        “You gonna eat that?”

        You gape at him for a moment, before letting out a snort of laughter. This boy is unbelievable.

        “I’m hungry and Nami’s got the money,” he pouts cutely.

        You smile reluctantly and shake your head in disbelief, before waving the owner over.

        “One more for the stubborn captain,” you nod towards the young man, whose eyes light up instantly.

        “You’ll buy me food?”

        “Why? You don’t want it?” your voice is teasing.

_How long has it been since you’ve used this tone with anyone?_

        “No, I do! I do!” he launches himself at you over the table, throwing his arms around your neck and snuggling against your cheek with happy tears running down his face comically.

        You stiffen at the body contact, itching to push him away, but settling on patting his back awkwardly.

        “Alright, alright, sit down,” you just know your cheeks are flushed in embarrassment again.

        “ _Shishishishi_ , sorry,” he scratches his neck sheepishly as he leans back.

        You shake your head at him, smiling faintly.

        When his food arrives, he digs right in. Something tells you you’ll have to order more than just one plate.

 

* * *

 

        

        The door to the bar opens again, and this time you do sigh.

        “Here you are!” the red-headed girl calls out to her captain, eyebrow twitching in annoyance, “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

        The rest of the crew steps in behind her.

        “Ah, it’s you!” You get a sense of déjà vu at those words. Usopp’s eyes widen when he sees you at the same table as Luffy. “The Sea King Killer!”

        You cringe at the nickname. A certain swordsman smirks.

        “My name’s –“ you begin, trying to keep your voice calm.

        “ _(Y/n)-swan~ <3_!” Sanji finishes for you, seemingly gliding up to your chair with hearts in his eyes.

        You’re actually a little surprised any of them remembers your name.

        Your reaction time dulled by alcohol, you don’t flinch back as he grabs your hand as he did before at the docks. This time he doesn’t hesitate to place his lips on your knuckles.

        You gape at him in disbelief, cheeks flushing again.

        “I was afraid I would never get another chance to place a kiss upon your lovely hands!” your blush darkens as he swipes a thumb over the place he’s just smooched.

        “Knock it off, Love Cook,” a pommel of a sword lands a blow to his head, making him stumble right into your lap. Blood flies out of the blonde’s nose when his face presses against your tights.

        “ ** _Heaven~!_** ” he cries out with a dumb smile.

        Zoro scowls, grabbing the back of the cook’s shirt and yanking him off of you. He throws him to the floor, where Sanji starts giggling in happiness.

        You can’t help but gape at the scene. It’s not just the captain that’s unbelievable. The whole crew is.

        The swordsman sits in the chair to your left, eyes going to the alcohol bottles above the bar.

        “So you’ve been stuffing your face in this whole time?” Nami glares at Luffy, taking a seat next to the brunette.

        “Yup!” he answers, gulping down a piece of meat. “(Y/n)’s treating!” he beams your way.

        “Oh, really? I’ll have some soup, then,” the navigator’s expression turns into a cheeky smile as she waves the bar owner over, no trace of anger left.

        “Beer for me,” Zoro places his sword right next to yours.

        “Noodles!” Usopp grins.

        “ _A kiss~ <3_!” Sanji takes the chair to your right, nose still bleeding.

        Your eyebrow twitches in a mix of irritation and amusement, as the owner strolls up with a wide grin.

        “What will it be, sweethearts?” she asks, giving you a wink after she checks out the new people at the table.

_What the hell._

        “Just give them whatever they want,” you say, resigned. Something tells you you’re going to regret it.

 

* * *

 

 

        It’s not long before the table is strewn with empty beer bottles, plates and burned out cigarettes.

        “How can you eat so much?” you mutter, looking at Luffy as he pats his stomach in contentment. More than twenty empty plates lie next to him, one half-eaten.

        “I’m a rubber man!”

        That doesn’t make any sense, but considering the state of intoxication him and everyone else at the table is in, you just shake your head.

        Next to him, Usopp is snoring into his arms and Nami’s starting to doze off above her beer mug.

        Considering how much alcohol all of them have drank, you’re not surprised.

        “I’m unworthy of such heavenly grace,” Sanji sobs from your right, eyes teary as he stares at you. “To think we would find an angel like you in such a shitty place,” he makes a move to grab your hand again, but leans too far and ends up falling to the floor. He snuggles up against your unwounded leg.

        You don’t even blush anymore, having had the past few hours to get used to this lot. The blonde’s flirty and touchy-feely attitude no longer fazes you, especially after you saw him make passes at Nami and the middle-aged owner. He seems to be the same way towards every woman, which surprisingly makes you far more comfortable around him.

        “ _Hey_ ,” the low, lazy drawl from your left makes you turn. Your (e/c) eyes meet grey. “Fight me,” Zoro says, swaying in his seat.

        “For the last time, Zoro,” you sigh, “ **No** ,” you say more sternly, hoping he’ll let it go.

        He frowns and grabs your wrist. His grip is different than Sanji’s – strong, firm and steady, even in his drunken haze. His fingers are calloused, skin tough and hard. He lifts your hand and places it on your sword.

        “ ** _No_** ,” you repeat, adding in a little glare. You try to tug your hand away, but he keeps it under his and on the cold metal of your falchion’s pommel.

        “Come _on_ ,” his voice is almost a whine at this point.

        “How many times do I have to-“ your gaze turns harder as you grind the words out through your teeth, your head pulsing with a headache. The feeling of lips pressing to your bare knee makes you glance down with wide eyes. “What **the hell** are you doing?!” you growl out, face on fire as you glare at Sanji placing smooches above and below your handkerchief-wrapped wound.

        He looks up at you with dazed, confused, sleepy eyes.

        “Kissing it better?” he asks, eyes surprisingly lacking the perverted glint he’s had for the last few hours.

        A skinny leg in a sandal kicks him right in the face.

        “Ah, sorry,” Luffy’s face is as innocent as it can get. “My foot slipped,” he promptly pushes the last piece of meat into his mouth, chews, swallows and passes right out onto the now empty plate.

        You stare blankly at the sleeping lot around you, before turning to the only semi-conscious person– Zoro. Just as you do, he leans his head forward and presses his forehead against yours. His eyes are half-lidded and send a slight shiver through your body.

        “Fight me,” he mutters, before falling asleep like everyone else.

        For a very long while, you just sit like that – with one man sleeping against your shoulder, another curled around your feet and your blank gaze staring dumbly at nothing in particular.

_How did you get into this situation again?_

        And how the hell do you get out of it?!

        You glance up at the owner, eyes pleading. She smirks, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, gives you the thumbs up again and then disappears through the backdoor with a giggle.

**The bitch.**

 

 

* * *

 

 

        There’s no helping it. You have to get them all to their ship. The bar has no rooms to rent and they’re all too drunk to walk by themselves. And so, you carry them one by one through the town, still feeling the buzz of alcohol in your head.

        Thankfully, they’re all shorter than your 180cm of height and you’re a lot stronger than you look.

        You grab Sanji first, the blond no longer conscious enough to realize he’s being carried by a woman. If he were, you’re sure he would either lament about being the one who should carry you or bleed all over you because of some perverted thoughts invading his brain.

        Finding the men’s sleeping quarters on the ship isn’t hard, so you’re soon done depositing the cook in the first hammock you come across.

        Then, you get Nami. It’s more comfortable to carry her bridal style; she’s so light you barely have to strain a muscle to keep her slender form in your arms. She presses her face into your chest with a smile. You don’t mind – you’ve always been more comfortable about women touching you.

        Luffy’s next, his arms clutching you tightly as he snuggles his face into your neck and mumbles out nonsensical little comments. Your cheeks flush slightly when he starts muttering about you being one of them now. If buying him a meal is all it takes for him to want you to join his crew, his standards are pretty low.

        It takes a few minutes before you can get his hands off of you after you place him in a random hammock.

        When you open the door to the bar one more time, Zoro’s no longer sleeping. He’s checking the empty bottles for any more beer and you shake your head in disbelief.

        “You’ve had enough,” you say, prying a mug from his fingers. He looks up at you, eyes squinting and unfocused.

        “Fight me,” he grumbles out, standing up and swaying in place.

        You groan, massaging your temples.

_Those kids are unbelievable. Is this what it feels like to be a parent?_

        “Look, how about this-“ you start, sure he’s not going to remember the deal you’re about to propose anyway. “You follow me to your ship like a good little boy, and I’ll fight you the next time you ask for it.”

        His mouth shuts and he thinks about it.

        “Alright,” he mutters eventually, as he moves to pick up Usopp.

        “I’ll carry him,” you snap quickly. If he did it, you’re sure he would drop the dark-skinned sniper on the head or just drag him across the road by the nose.

        He opens his mouth to protest, so you grab your and his sword from the table and shove them into his hands.

        “You carry those,” you say, hoping he won’t impale himself on them on the way back. “That blade’s important to me, so don’t scratch it,” you warn, carefully slinging Usopp across your back.

        Zoro lets out a grunt of acknowledgement, heading out of the door.

        “It’s this way,” you awkwardly catch his wrist as he turns left instead of right, your arms still supporting Usopp’s legs.

        The swordsman blinks, before going the way you tug him towards.

        A loud sob sound in your ear and you sigh.

        There goes the sobbing drunk.

        “I’m such a coward!”

        Usopp starts shaking in your grasp, as his tears and snot soak into the material of your shirt.

        “Why?” you ask calmly, making your voice soothing.

        He doesn’t even look up at your face, so absorbed in self-loathing.

        You feel your heart clench. Once upon a time, it was you in his place – feeling weak and useless. It took you a long time to realize that sometimes your best just wasn’t good enough.

        That didn’t mean you couldn’t get good enough for it to be.

        “Luffy, Zoro and Sanji fought the fishmen off but I just wanted to run and hide!” He finally turns to you, his eyes red and glazed.

         ‘ ** _Pretty_** ’ he thinks, staring at your face and snuggling deeper into your back.

        “Did you?”

        He blinks and blushes when he realizes he’s been admiring you and cuddling your back.

        “N-no… I fought in the end, but it was almost over then…” he directs his gaze down in shame.

        “Then you’re a brave man.”

        He snaps his head up so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t throw up all over you.

        “Brave?” he wonders hopefully but scoffs almost the same second. “No, I’m not. I was scared.”

        You turn and smile at him, your cheek almost brushing his long nose. His eyes follow the movements of your lips in drunken wonder.

        “A brave man is not the man who fears nothing,” you adjust your hold on him, eyes drifting towards Zoro, who’s starting to head in the wrong direction.  “A brave man…” you quicken your steps, grabbing the swordsman wrist, “…is a man who fears something, but chooses to fight against it anyways.”

        Zoro gazes at your hand on his.

        Usopp hides his face against your shoulder.

        “Do you really mean it?”

        “I’m a horrible liar.”

        He can feel the smile in your voice as he drifts back to sleep.

        The stumbling green-haired man looks up at you. The very moment you let go of his wrist, he starts heading off course again.

        “ _Seriously_ ,” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his and tugging him forward. A slight blush dusts his cheeks, the alcohol in his bloodstream not the only reason for it.

        For the rest of the way towards the Going Merry, he stares at the sad smile on your lips.

 

* * *

 

       

        You stand in the men’s quarters, staring at the sleeping pirate crew.

        Nami’s tucked in in the other room, a woolen blanket over her frame.

        Zoro’s snoring lightly, the large wound across his chest covered in your healing salve and dressed with clean bandages.

        Usopp’s face has been washed from tears and your water-soaked handkerchief rests over his eyes – hopefully, they won’t be swollen the next day.

        Everyone’s shoes have been taken off and a breakfast great for a hangover waits for them in the lounge.

        As you take one last look into the room, your lips turn into a sad, broken smile. Your throat is tight and you can feel your eyes prickle with tears.

        Only a few hours and you’re already feeling like you’re saying farewell to lifelong friends.

        You can’t remember the last time you’ve had this much fun, felt like you **_belonged_**. Your pockets might be empty, but your heart is full of memories you’ll carry with you for the rest of your messed-up life.

        You let the tears fall as you unfurl your ship’s torn sails and steer it towards Loguetown.

 


	6. The Hands That Burn

    Sanji wakes up to the kind of a headache that makes a person wish for a lobotomy. He groans, sluggishly throwing one leg down from the hammock. His bare foot smacks against the wooden flooring.

_Wait, **bare** foot?_

        He opens his eyes in surprise, turning his face to the side slowly. Even this slight motion makes his head spin and the contents of his stomach rise in protest.

        His shoes are on the floor, next to three other pairs. They’re all lined up neatly – just this is enough to tell him none of them were the one to place them there. No one on board cared enough to keep things orderly; when they ended up drinking, they usually woke up with their shoes still on and their feet smelling like shit.

        There is also the fact he’s in Zoro’s hammock. He scowls, feeling his headache worsen. Just the thought of having slept in the place the green-haired bastard usually does, makes his mood even more foul.

        He throws the other leg down, almost landing straight on his face when the string-bed swings backwards with the clumsy movement. He closes his eyes and that’s when the memories of yesterday rush into his head.

_(E/c) irises looking down bitterly, when he notices the scars across their owner’s skin._

_Making up for his blunder hours later, by pressing his lips against the calloused hands lined with white shapes._

_Kissing the skin of an equally scarred leg, when sadness overtakes him at the sight of a blood-stained handkerchief._

        His face flushes with shame and he lets out a loud groan. How the hell could he have done something so forward, so ungentlemanly - without a woman’s consent?!

        He stands up on shaky legs, not bothering to grab his black dress shoes. He heads for the deck, hoping you’ll find it in yourself to forgive him for his drunken conduct. Climbing the ladder in his state is so hard, he might as well be scaling a steep cliff.

        When he peeks out through the latch of the men’s sleeping quarters, the yellow ball up in the sky is barely starting to rise over the horizon. Thank the world for small favors – if he ended up staring into the glaring afternoon sun, he might have just thrown himself overboard.

        Still, he feels his lips twist into a small, happy smile when he looks towards the ship’s left side. Just the thought of seeing you again makes pleasant warmth spread through his chest. How could he not find someone who bothered to take his shoes off when he’s drunk lovely?

        His cheeks flush – it’s something he can imagine his wife doing for him in the future, or doing it for his wife.

        He walks up to the railing, the silly grin on his face widening. When he’s almost peering downwards, to the docking space next to Going Merry, the smile starts slipping from his lips. The torn sails of your ship should be visible by now.

        He stops in his track, knowing what he’ll find if he takes another step. Disappointment settles in the pit of his stomach, making the alcohol-induced nausea feel like nothing.

        He turns on his heel, not wanting to see it.

_Your ship’s no longer there._

**You’ve left.**

 

* * *

 

        You sense his presence long before you see him.        

        It’s strong, heavy and deadly. Never in your life have you felt such a powerful aura.

        You narrow your eyes, facing the direction you know he’s coming from. The fog that hangs in the air keeps you from seeing further than two meters, but you know he’s getting closer and closer.

        You can’t help it - you break into a nervous sweat, your heart starts beating wildly and your pulse quickens to a panicked pace.

        ‘ _Calm down_ ,’ you chant in your thoughts again and again, until the shaking of your hands almost dies down.

        You glare at the torn sails from underneath your mended hood. The familiar weight of your hidden gear helps you focus, shifting your mind into assassin-mode.

        Whoever this person is, you won’t make it out of this alive if they decide to attack you at sea. There’s not enough space for you to maneuver, too little ground to work with. If someone like him - whoever he is - forces you into a fight right now, you’re dead meat.

        You load the small crossbow attached to your right arm with an explosive shot.

        “I don’t know who you are, but I’m **not** going down without a fight,” you grind out through your teeth, words low and cold.

        “You can sense me,” the tone of his voice puts yours to shame, sending a shiver of dread down your spine, “Interesting.”

        You see it – the silhouette of a ship a little bigger than yours, the mast shaped like a cross. Little green flames flicker on both sides of a tall figure sitting on what looks like a wooden throne built into the deck.

        “My ship’s in bad shape and I can’t steer clear of you. I hope you have enough sense to leave me be,” you all but growl out, the feeling of danger putting you on edge.

        The person says nothing, still on collision course.

        “If you crash into my ship, we’ll both die,” you warn, aiming the bolt at his head.

        “ _We_ won’t crash,” the man replies lazily with that rasp of his, and that’s when you feel it – the powerful gust of wind rushing your way. You have only a second to step to the side, narrowly avoiding the force that cuts into your ship.

**The boat splits right in two.**

        You stumble as the deck sinks beneath you. Teeth clenched in anger, you release the bolt just as you plummet into the ocean’s depths. The water pulls you into its cold embrace greedily. For a moment, you don’t move. You watch as pieces of wood that once were your ship sink deeper and deeper, along with what few everyday items you had. There’s no time to regret losing any of it.

        Your hands drift to your belt – your sword’s where it’s supposed to be, next to pouches full of little bolts for your crossbow. You grab one with a hook on its tail and insert it into the gauntlet-bound weapon. The lack of explosion on the surface tells you the man took care of your attack somehow. You’re down one trick.

        You grab the end of the wire coiled inside your gauntlet and connect it to the new shot. Your lungs burn for air, but you keep yourself submerged for as long as you can, mind whirling.

        In theory, you have two options: kill the man and take his ship or sink him and die. In practice, something tells you it’s not really your choice at this point.

        Your head breaks the surface right next to the man’s coffin-shaped boat. You don’t give yourself time to gasp for breath. Your crossbow already aimed, you shoot at the man’s face. He tilts his head to the side almost mockingly and the sharp shaft digs into the back of his wooden throne. Two fingers press against the inside of your palm and you fly right out of the water and towards the tall figure.

        The hidden blade on your left arm slides out soundlessly as you aim your fist at the bastard’s face.

        A sword’s edge stops your attack.

        You freeze, staring into the most intense and beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen – they’re almost golden in color and sharper than the steel between the both of you.

        “The Red Hand is a woman,” it’s a statement, not a question. It’s then that you realize that the black hood has slid from your head.

        Your eyes widen in momentary panic, but there’s nothing you can do about it now other than to try and kill the man. You curl the toes of your left foot into the bottom of your leather shoe, making another hidden blade slide out just as you aim a kick at the man’s chest.

        Effortlessly, as if he were swatting away a fly, he catches your foot by the ankle, yanks it over his shoulder and makes you fall back in the process. Midair, you cut the wire from your gauntlet off, twisting your body at the same time. The movement directs the man’s sword towards the bottom of his ship. The blade stops bare millimeters above the deck. The trick to make him destroy his own boat doesn’t work and now you’re down to hurting him as much as you can before he kills you.

        Snarling in frustration, you make a move to try and leap at him one more time.

        That’s when **_the pain_** hits you.

        You stumble, hands drifting down towards your side, your gaze following soon after. A piece of wood sticks out of your body, lodged into your flesh. You must have been hit with his attack, after all. Just not the way he intended.

        You fall forward, right into his lap, stomach pressing against his crossed thighs.

        His chest is bare, muscles relaxed as if this fight is nothing to him.

         “You’re too slow.”

        The blade of his sword presses against your throat. You can feel its sharp edge draw blood as you turn your head to look up at him.

        You glare, lips pressed tight. He stares back for what seems like an hour, sharp eyes sending the kind of shivers down your spine you can’t blame on the coldness of the ocean’s water alone.

        “What are you waiting for?” you challenge him, twisting your upper torso to the side, tilting your head further back and baring your throat. Your hair spills from the tight bun you usually wear it in, spreading against his lap. “My throat won’t cut itself if you just glare at it, no matter how sharp your eyes.”

        It might be your imagination, but you swear that the corner of his lips’ twitches.

        “Not begging for your life?” it’s the first time he asks instead of stating.

        “Do I look like the begging type?” your gaze hardens even further, pupils narrowing into furious slits. Any lesser man would have pissed his pants by now. “I’m not afraid of death.”

_For you, it’s never final, anyway._

        “ _Hmm_ ,” he lets out a hum you can’t quite decipher.

        Is it interest? Mockery? **Disappointment**?

        You don’t close your eyes as he moves his sword up. Surprisingly enough, it’s not to kill you but to slide it back into the sheath at his back.

        “We’ll fight on the shore,” he says simply. He crosses his arms over his chest, not at all fazed that you’re still sprawled over his lap.

        You feel your blood boil. Who is this arrogant _bastard_? He’s not from the East Blue – that much is clear. You would have heard something about someone as powerful as him. Your hand itches to try and kill him while he’s unguarded, but the honorable part of you stops it. He could have cut you down, but chose to postpone the fight to give you more of a winning chance.

        The pain gets stronger with every second that passes. Your vision blurs and you choose to stay on his lap – if you drop to the floor, there’s a high chance you’ll worsen the bleeding or drive the wooden piece even further into your flesh.

        You almost groan as your hands grasp the stake sticking out of your side. Knuckles turning white from the strain, you yank it out. Warm blood rushes between your fingers, mixing with the coldness of your now wet clothes. You know his eyes are still on you, sharp as before. He doesn’t push you off, but doesn’t rush to your aid either.

        What a confusing man. His attack made it quite clear he wouldn’t mind seeing you dead, yet he’s going out of his way to give you time to patch yourself up and face him on wider terrain.

        You push the danger he poses to the back of your mind and focus on momentary survival. All your supplies now lie somewhere at the bottom of the ocean and pressing your cape against your side won’t work for long. You need to mend the wound somehow, stop the bleeding. Your sight zeroes in on the flickering green flames. Lips pressed into a tight line, you take in one shaky breath, steeling yourself for what you’re about to do.

        Cauterizing wounds has never been your favorite part of being an assassin.

        Your hand closes around the pommel of your mother’s sword. You slide it out of its sheath slowly, muscles straining. The man doesn’t even blink, not feeling threatened in the least. You extend your arm forward, bathing the blade in the flames long enough to add a red glow to it. And then, swiftly, not giving yourself enough time to think about it, you press it against your wounded flesh. A scream rises in your throat. You choke it down, hiding the oncoming tears by pressing your face against the man’s firm thighs.

        You feel your consciousness slipping, the sharp golden glare still on you.


End file.
